


Bad Memories

by TheTeaIsAddictive



Series: The Beauty of a Beast [2]
Category: Beauty and the Beast (1991)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Minor Character Death, well i mean technically the 'hurt' was ten years ago but WHATEVER
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-12
Updated: 2016-05-12
Packaged: 2018-06-08 00:13:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6831049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheTeaIsAddictive/pseuds/TheTeaIsAddictive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even though she's the happiest person the Beast has seen in ten years, Belle has bad memories of her own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bad Memories

**Bad Memories**

That dress did not have good memories attached to it. 

When Belle came down for breakfast that morning in her old blue dress and white apron, the Beast - no, no, Adam, his name is _Adam_ \- nearly had a heart attack. He couldn't help feeling petrified that Belle was going to beg him to leave, or worse, run away regardless; the last time she'd worn that dress was when Lumière had to convince Adam to go after her in the middle of a blizzard. He'd ended up with a severe clawing on his left arm, but he couldn't say he regretted the experience - he had a funny feeling that that was the moment he really started to fall for Belle. 

But now she was in that dress again, and panic filled his eyes and his heart. 

"Belle - are you alright?"

She was already sitting down at the table and pouring herself some tea before she realised he had spoken to her. Her dark eyes, normally sharp and quick, seemed slightly vacant, and her movements were a lot slower today than they usually were. She glanced down at her dress and gave a little start; obviously she'd grabbed the first familiar thing she saw. 

"I guess not," she croaked. "I couldn't sleep for ages last night, and my head hurts quite a bit now." She frowned (quite adorably, Adam thought privately). He knew Belle hated being ill, but there was nothing to do now but make the best of a bad situation. 

"Belle, you're not right. After breakfast, I'll ask Mrs. Potts to build up a fire in your room -"

"Oh, no, Beast - I couldn't stay there much longer."

Now it was Adam's turn to frown. Did she not like the room? Did she mean the castle? 

"Please, don't misinterpret me - I love the room, but it's just so - so cold there, even with the fire that I just can't -"

"Belle." She stopped abruptly at the state of worry on the Beast's face. "That room is very warm - I know for a fact, I used to stay there when I was younger before this place was sold. I really think you're ill, Belle. Come on, there's a smaller room along here with a fireplace you can stay."

They walked the short distance, Belle collapsing fully dressed on a green velvet settee and closing her eyes. The warm light of the fire flickered gently over her face, highlighting the hints of copper lingering in her hair and casting a soft yellow glow around her. Adam looked down at Belle, his eyes filled with love, and he probably would have stayed like that indefinitely if he hadn't noticed her shivering. 

Adam grabbed the first blanket he saw, not recognising it until the navy blue wool was securely laid over a now-sleeping Belle. If he hadn't recognised it from the colour, the smell of it would've gifted his mind with a memory, long, long distant.

He was three, maybe four, and he was in this room, this castle, even, with his mother. He had been very cold that day; Charming had insisted on a snowball fight, and despite the freezing slush and gloveless hands, Adam had won. His mother sat beside him, his head in her lap: Charming was asleep on the settee behind them: the King sat off to one side, a book about hunting (the only kind he ever read) clasped between his hands. 

As suddenly as the scene in his head had appeared, it faded away. His ears flopped down, and Adam stretched out before the fire, keeping an eye on Belle in case she woke up in confusion. He mused a couple of minutes more on his mother, whom he barely remembered: his mother, the few portraits he had showing her flaming hair and bright green eyes, who taught him how to read and passed along her quick temper: his mother, for whom the castle had been built, who had been friends with Mrs Potts since they were young: his mother, who had died when Adam was four giving birth to a little girl, who also died two weeks later. 

Heavy-hearted, he turned his head back to look at Belle. Belle, who was funny without realising, who was smarter than him in ways he somehow didn't mind, who wore his mothers dresses and read in her library, and was so completely herself that in no way did she seem to be a ghost. In that moment, lying on the floor next to a calm, crackling fire, Adam admitted to himself the truth that he had been scared to admit to himself for so long. He was completely and utterly in love with Belle. And what was more, he almost - almost - didn't care about the curse and what it had done to him, because it had led him to her. 

Suddenly, Belle let out a cry in her sleep. Quick as lightening, Adam was up and next to her, keeping a safe distance in case the nightmare was about him. She tossed and turned on the settee, and he could see her eyes moving frantically under her lids. Adam reached out to touch her shoulder, to gently wake her up; but before he could, her eyes flew open, she screamed "Mama!" and fell off the settee with a bump. 

She curled up into a little ball, shaking and crying quietly. Adam awkwardly sat next to her, and she leaned into him, inhaling his comforting animal scent, grabbing onto his torn shirt. He gently stroked her back, trying to make sure he didn't rip her skin with his sharpened claws. 

After a while, Belle spoke. 

"My mother died when I was seven." She glanced up at Adam. He continued to keep his paw on her back. Gathering her strength, she continued. 

"We didn't live here - Papa has always moved around a lot, and we came to the village down there when I was fourteen. But we were a lot closer to where the Army was based back then. 

"Mama and Papa were so very, very happy when I was younger. The townspeople once said that they were too happy to last very long. That was true of my Mama, anyway. She was very pretty - she had lovely light brown hair, very curly, and these bright blue eyes that Papa always said he fell in love with first. And then she would laugh and say she fell in love with his hands. 

"Anyway," Belle muttered, "it was the day before my eighth birthday, and Mama was out looking for a book to give me - she knew me well. A fight broke out in a pub on the same street as her, and when it spilled onto the road..." 

Belle took in a series of short, desperate gasps. 

"Belle," Adam said, "you don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

"When it spilled onto the road," Belle continued with renewed vigour, "one of the soldiers shot into the street, trying to hit his opponent. Instead, he hit my mother."

Animalistic body be damned, Adam tried to embrace Belle, show her she wasn't alone in mourning the death of a beloved mother who died too young. She cried into his chest for what seemed like days, but in reality couldn't have been more than five minutes. When Adam couldn't hear or feel her body shaking with sobs anymore, he looked down to see she'd fallen asleep in his arms. And somehow, that made him love her even more. 

When Mrs Potts came bouncing into the room half and hour later with some soup, she saw her master and Belle both sound asleep in front of the dying fire.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published 18/06/2013


End file.
